


Détente

by ladyofrosefire



Category: Shield of Tomorrow (Web Series)
Genre: Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 11:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofrosefire/pseuds/ladyofrosefire
Summary: It was only a matter of time before Martinez and Zazrit did something about the suffocating sexual tension.





	Détente

**Author's Note:**

> I both blame damoselmaledisant for getting me to write this and thank her for beta-reading. Happy Holidays, and Bright (belated) Solstice!

Despite all the reasons he should have expected it, Rafael still jumps when Zazrit leans across the table and takes his jaw in one hand. The forks and knives on the table rattle and Zazrit lets out a huff of a laugh. He can feel it against his lips.

“What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t do this kind of ambush.”

“...yeah, okay. Fair enough,” Rafael allows before leaning in to close the distance.

Zazrit’s tongue steals into his mouth and teases behind his teeth. He tastes a little like cream soda, which, okay, is a bit weird, but that stops mattering almost immediately. Rafael returns the kiss in kind, bringing his hands up to Zazrit’s face. It gets him a bite to his lower lip. Without breaking the kiss, Rafael stands. And he feels Zazrit  _yield_.

For half a moment, he slows, his eyes coming half-open. Then he steps forward, sidling around the table. Zazrit moves back. His back meets the wall a moment later. They press together. The zipper on Zazrit’s jacket digs into Rafael’s chest.

He brings a hand to it and tugs it down an inch. “May I?”

“Please do,” one of his hands drops to Rafael’s ass and gives it a firm squeeze, “may I, Captain?”

It’s—

Zazrit has a bit of a _talent_ for getting right under his skin, but that’s not why he acts the way he does. He has a hunch. He pulls back just enough to see Zazrit’s face as he pins his wrists to the wall. He’s not particularly strong. If Zazrit wants to move, he will. Instead, his hips jerk and a low groan breaks from his mouth.

Well, _shit_.

“You gonna keep your hands there?” He sounds breathless even to his own ears.

“That depends on you.”

Zazrit shoves back— barely— and Rafael leans his weight into the hold.

“Is—”

“I’ll tell you if I want to stop.”

Rafael hesitates. A furrow forms between his brow. Hunch aside, there’s a lot that goes into pinning another person to a bed. And as much as he believes Zazrit not only could but  _would_ smother him to death with a pillow if he changed his mind, it’s— well, he has to wonder  _why_ Zazrit wants this.

He almost gets thrown off for his distraction.

“Hey, Captain— bedroom’s no place for Starfleet moralizing. Either get on me or get off,” Zazrit goads.

“Yeah?” Rafael leans in. Zazrit has some height on him as well as muscle, so it’s easy to nuzzle in under his jaw and set his teeth to his skin. “Alright then.”

The second he releases Zazrit’s hands to go for his zipper, they’re back on him, one carding through his hair, the other dropping to grope at his ass again. Rafael lets him do it. He pulls down the zipper on the jacket and finds that, unsurprisingly, there is nothing but skin beneath it. He slips his hands beneath it and runs them up to his shoulders. The jacket drops off, mostly. It falls the rest of the way once Zazrit takes his hands off of him for a second. Then they’re back, sliding into his uniform, unzipping his jacket and untucking his shirt. He’s _fast_. Rafael manages to catch his hands before they get to his pants and pin him again.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Zazrit rocks his hips forward again. He barely makes contact. The movement causes his abs to flex. When their eyes meet again, he’s smirking. Rafael swallows hard. Then he steps forward. Their hips align, and the next time Zazrit ruts against him, the friction sends a frisson of heat up his spine. Matching the movement is like dancing. And—

“Computer, music.”

It’s learned his patterns, so it plays earth vintage, something low and a bit jazzy. For a second, he entertains the thought that the computer knows what he’s up to. Then he turns his full attention back to the man pushing against his hands. He stills as the music comes on, tilting his head to one side.

“Huh,” Zazrit nods along to the song for a moment, then flashes a bright smile. “Works for me. It’d work better if you’d quit stopping.”

“You don’t know a thing about patience, do you?” Rafael retorts, leaning in to nip at the shell of Zazrit’s ear.

It gets him a long, satisfied groan. “I know _plenty_ about patience, Captain _._ I’ve just used it on more important things.”

“...Yeah. Yeah. That’s fair.” Rafael steps back, ignoring Zazrit’s half-hearted attempt to hold onto him. He pulls off his jacket, drops it over the back of his chair, and then tugs his shirt over his head. “Go get on the bed.”

Zazrit gives him a long look, gaze raking over him hot as disruptor fire. He walks backward. One-handed, he tugs open the fastenings on his pants. Then he sits down and yanks off his boots. Rafael toes his off.

“Lights to thirty percent.”

Orions liked it dark. He had no doubt that Zazrit could see better than he could, but that was fine.

Rafael joins him on the bed. There’s no chance to hesitate, not with strong hands gripping his shoulder and his waist and pulling him in and down. He moves them up the bed before taking hold of Zazrit’s wrists again. This time, Zazrit fights him, biting at his lips and his neck as he pushes back. The first time their hips meet, Rafael recoils at the bite of a zipper. He squirms out of his pants and underwear. In the moments he’s tangled, he ends up rolled onto his back with Zazrit’s arm across his throat. He’s all hard muscle and intent, too much to throw off by fighting fair. So Rafael sneaks a hand down between them and cups him through the leather of his pants. It doesn’t make his grip slacken, but Zazrit’s eyes fall closed.

It doesn’t feel like he’s grabbed a handful of tentacles. Maybe he should have read up on Orion physiology before he had a dinner date with one.

Rafael has no illusions that Zazrit isn’t letting him push him onto his back. He sprawls out with all the grace of a big cat, arching up against him. Zazrit tugs against the grip on his wrists.

“This where you want me, Captain?”

“Close enough,” he allows.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Zazrit’s expression is more a baring of teeth than a smile. “Ever pinned someone to your bed before?

“Nope. Can’t say I have.” He dips down to bite at Zazrit’s neck and shoulder.

“Is it everything you imagined, Captain?”

One of his legs ends up hooked around Rafael’s waist, tugging him in and rutting up against him. The leather of his pants drags between them, and he jerks back again with a hiss. Zazrit lets out a burst of laughter.

“I didn’t think my partner’d be this  _mouthy_ ,” he mutters. He lets go of one of Zazrit’s wrists and finishes unfastening his pants.

“You can always try to shut me up.”

“Uh huh.”

He isn’t sure exactly what he had been expecting. Not tentacles, but not a relatively normal looking penis, either. It’s _green_ , obviously. Slightly curved. Definitely a penis.

“Can I help you, Captain?”

Zazrit is smirking again, his freed arm folded behind his head and one eyebrow arched. When he sees that he has Rafael’s attention, he arches, lifting his hips and tipping his head back to bear his throat.

“I’m not gonna wait all night.”

“No?” he reaches for the nightstand. It puts his chest within range, and he hisses as Zazrit sinks his teeth none-too-gently into his left pectoral. “Jeeze— _ow!_ ”

“Sorry.” Zazrit’s tongue laves over the bitemark.

He isn’t, and he isn’t even trying to pretend, but it doesn’t matter. He’s grinning, chest rising and falling rapidly with his breath, his cock smearing wet on his stomach.

Rafael drops the bottle of lube on the bed by his hip and presses down on the wrist he still has pinned. “Are you gonna leave this here?”

Zazrit shoves against it. _This_ time, he puts his strength into it, and it comes up off the mattress. “Haven’t I been?”

“Alright, alright. I get it,” he rolls his eyes. “Put your hands over your head.”

He uses his command voice, the one he saves for special occasions, and is rewarded with a long shudder and a longer groan from Zazrit. When he lets go, Zazrit stretches slowly and crosses both wrists above his head. He makes a striking picture against the flat grey of the sheets. Then he flexes. The move is _painfully_ obvious.

Rafael rolls his eyes as he pumps lube into his hands. “Cute.”

“Thank you!”

Zazrit shifts his legs until they fit together, more or less.

Rafael takes them both in hand. It’s been too long since he’s felt skin-on-skin like this. Both of them groan. They shift until they find a rhythm. Zazrit is vocal, which isn’t surprising. It’s a showy kind of vocal, his head tipped back and his body following the roll of his hips. His hands curl into tight fists in the sheets. Rafael ducks down to bite at Zazrit’s collarbone and then his throat.

“ _Fuck_ yes— Put your— c’mon, Captain—”

He gets it. It’s hard not to with Zazrit arched beneath him, but he still hesitates, his pace slowing for a moment. Rafael sits back enough to take his weight off his free hand.

Then he closes it on Zazrit’s throat.

The effect is immediate. Zazrit jerks beneath him, eyes squeezed shut. One hand comes down to grip his wrist — the other dips between them.

“Let me,” he urges.

Rafael hesitates for only a moment before planting his slick hand and that forearm on the sheets by Zazrit’s head and leaning down for a biting kiss. They shift again. Zazrit twists at the waist, bringing one thigh up, and then Rafael can thrust into a tight, slick space. Strong fingers dig into his hip and slow him. Everything narrows to a slow, hot grind. Each roll of their hips sends heat curling low. He still has his hand on Zazrit’s throat, index and middle fingers up against the hammer of his pulse. Sweat slicks their skin and sticks a few strands of Rafael’s hair to his forehead. The music continues, mingling with the sounds of their labored breathing.

“ _Fuck_ , yes,” Zazrit hisses, arching into the hand on his throat.

Heat builds between them. Finally, Rafael quickens his pace. His hand tightens automatically on Zazrit’s throat. He feels Zazrit groan as much as he hears it. Then he spills between them, his hips jerking off-rhythm.

What.

It’s with a startled cry that Rafael follows him, muffling the groan that follows against a green shoulder. He lies there for a moment, panting, and then collapses onto the mattress.

“ _Fuck_ …” he breathes, taking his clean hand and rubbing his face.

“You don’t say.”

“No— no, don’t do that,” he mutters, “too many endorphins to punch you.”

They are probably going to have to talk about some of this at some point. Or they should. It would be the right thing to do considering the part where he had just pinned a man down by the throat. But not right this second.

Zazrit stretches and then reaches down to swipe his fingers through the mess on his stomach. He sinks back against the bed with a sigh. For a few minutes, maybe less, they remain in silence, staring up at the ceiling. Then the mattress shifts. Zazrit levers himself up. His gait is not as smooth as it is usually. Rafael would gloat if his legs didn’t feel like half-melted jello.

“I’m gonna shower.” Zazrit glances back, a smirk on his mouth, and winks. “You could join me, Captain.”

Oh, what the hell.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at ask-ladyofrosefire.tumblr.com. Yes, I'm still on tumblr.


End file.
